


Have You Seen This Rogue?

by padawanhilary



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, Romantic Fluff, Sweet, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 15:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18101480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padawanhilary/pseuds/padawanhilary
Summary: Zevran, loosely affiliated with the Inquisition (but tightly affiliated with Dorian), has stolen Dorian's cologne again. Affronted, he spends the day searching for his errant elf.





	Have You Seen This Rogue?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinksundays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinksundays/gifts).



> ... who gave me the bunny on zero notice. I provided a pairing (Zevran and Dorian), food item (a Tevinter version of baklava), a piece of clothing (silk brocade), and an item of my choice (I Googled “random items” and hit “I’m feeling lucky,” and among the items was a mostly empty bottle of cologne). She gave me this.
> 
> Beta-read by [CuriousThimble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousThimble/pseuds/CuriousThimble).

It happened to be that I was finishing my ablutions and noticed that my cologne was gone. Again. That was the problem with entangling myself with a man like Zevran: he’d become accustomed to “borrowing” my things. Once, it had been a very fine dress doublet that I’d received from Felix. On another occasion, it had been a silver flask in a fabulous leather case. I still missed that bloody flask, but now I was truly annoyed: that cologne had come all the way from Vyrantium. 

Naturally, I had to speak with the woman who knew everything. I ascended the steps into the rookery and spotted her immediately in her trademark lavender cowl, red tresses peeking out around the edges. She was giving missives to an errand boy, though I was certain that my own quest was indubitably more important. 

“Leliana,” I interrupted, throwing a cursory glance at the runner and then turning to our spymaster, “have you seen Zevran?” 

She blinked at me and then, for some infuriating reason, turned back to the runner. She gave him further instructions and a letter, seemed to consider a moment as he left, and then finally turned back to me. “No,” she said, practically exuding feigned patience, “I have not.” Settling at her table in the curve of the rookery alcove, she began to pick through some correspondence. “Now will you excuse -”

“It’s only that he nicked my cologne again, and there’s not enough of it left to spare,” I said, trying to clarify my intent. “So… no sign of him? Or at least the cologne?” Zevran would turn up again - he always did - but if he used the last of that fragrance, I’d be supremely annoyed.

Leliana tipped her face up to mine, her lovely eyes catching the light from her tiny latticed windows. “None.”

I frowned and rubbed at my forehead. “You are absolutely certain?”

“Dorian,” she finally said with a tiny sigh, “you may rephrase the question however you like, but the answer is still ‘no.’ I don’t think I’ve seen him since yesterday morning.”

I sighed myself, then nodded. “All right. If you do -”

“I’ll let you know at once,” she promised me, “because one of my fine quills has disappeared, and I suspect him of the theft.” 

“Oh, for -” I sighed and nodded, departing before she became more annoyed with me as a side effect of her irritation with him.

He was sneaky, my elf was, and I suspected he might actually be avoiding me. My mood of late had been… darker, perhaps, than either of us liked. Snappish, truth be told. My corner of our fortress in the mountains was a far cry from the palatial estates I’d been accustomed to. 

In fact, nothing in Skyhold was as I’d been accustomed to. The food was mostly Ferelden, the vendors mostly Orlesian, and Maker save us all, the Inquisitor had taken up a great love for all things Avvar. There were pelts everywhere, and huge masks had been hung in the dining hall, fringed with fur and crackled and smudged with war paint. The errant nature of the culture in the keep was enough to make anyone surly just out of confusion alone, and my things from home…

Zevran and I were going to have a chat about his penchant for _my_ creature comforts.

Varric and Vivienne were in the Great Hall at one of the dining tables. A plate of cut fruit sat between them, as well as a broad tray littered with scraps of fabric, polished stones, gems, toggles, and buttons. The two were deep in discussion, Varric’s pen working furiously. Intrigued, I approached and sat down, snagging a slice of apple to pop it into my mouth. 

“Good morning,” Vivienne greeted me, then turned back to Varric. “I said opal, darling. This is fluorite.” Vivienne pointed to one of the shiny bits, a smooth stone with flecks of gold and vivid green, then picked up a square of shimmery blue fabric. “And this silk is absolutely inferior - terrible workmanship. Wherever did you get it?” 

“A place called ‘Ne Change Jamais.’ Not everyone’s willing to offer up samples, you know.”

A wash of displeasure moved across Vivienne’s lovely face as she studied the stone and its shifting colors. “Ah - Euphorbia - I remember when she was cast out of court, a disgraced baroness. It surprises me not a bit that she makes for a shoddy merchant. No, darling, you will not be dealing with her for this matter.”

The dwarf scoffed. “They’re just swatches! I needed to be able to describe the brocade and the fastenings.” 

“Then you should have come to me before wasting a trip to Val Royeaux. Better yet, you should have come to me so that we could visit Val Royeaux together. My villainess must be dressed to perfection. She is affluent, is she not?” 

Varric gave her an affronted look. “Of course she is.” 

Nodding in satisfaction, Vivienne took up a button that looked to have been carved out of fire. “Then she must wear red. It is all the rage this year. Her collar must be broad and tall, and her waist cinched just a touch. I also have several specific opinions on hats.”

“Sure you do.” Varric made more notes, paused, then made yet more. Finally, he raised his gaze to mine. “Sparkler. Do you need something?” 

“I do,” I admitted, “but this is fascinating. Will you trim your corset with finely-cut stones? I suggest that one.” I indicated a bit of fiery garnet.

“I appreciate your thought, darling, but it must be black opal against vermillion silk, or the color of the gem is lost.” She tsked at me; obviously, I had slipped a few rungs down in her estimation. 

“Of course you’re right,” I conceded thoughtfully. “As you always are in matters of fashion.” 

Mollified, she preened a bit under my praise. “What is it you need?” she asked, graciously turning her attention from herself for a moment. 

“Zevran has disappeared with the last of my cologne, and I wonder if you’ve seen him?”

“What a travesty, my dear. It’s egregious, but no; I saw him yesterday at the morning meal and not since.”

I looked at Varric. 

“Sorry.” He ate a bit of fruit, considering while he chewed. “Have you tried telling him to quit taking your sh -” and he cut himself off to amend, “stuff?”

“Repeatedly,” I sighed. 

“Had to ask,” Varric added with a shrug. “I wish I could tell you something. Maybe he knew he was going away for a while and wanted his pillow to smell like you.” 

It was a sweet and romantic idea. It made me feel alternately better and worse: “If he were going away, why wouldn’t he tell me?” 

At that, Varric could only shrug again. 

Solas was, not a bit to my surprise, painting. I didn’t expect him to know anything - I considered not speaking to him at all about it - but never let it be said that I am not thorough when seeking out what I want. 

“Good morning,” he greeted from his scaffold without looking down from his work. It was a rather stark interpretation of an eyeball and did nothing to reassure me that Solas was actually one of us.

“Good morning. Zevran hasn’t, by any chance, come through here, has he?” 

“If he had, and was being stealthy, then I may not have seen him at all. I would venture to say he has not. Not today, at any rate. He did pass through on his way to the battlements yesterday, and that was the last I’ve seen of him.” 

I sighed my disappointment. “Very well. Thank you.” Since I was inside the hall, I supposed our lovely Lady Montilyet was my next stop.

I wasn’t expecting to find Blackwall in Josephine’s study, though as I approached the great door that led to her alcove, I could hear him. He was telling a story, some rousing Warden tale or another, I was sure, and his pleasant rumble echoed in the chamber. Josephine, the little darling, was giggling in her very fetching way - and then I pushed the door open to enter. 

They immediately hushed; Blackwall cleared his throat and stepped toward the hearth. Josephine blushed deeply, glancing around on her desk as though something there might save her from my presence.

“Dorian!” she exclaimed softly by way of greeting, her voice a bit fluttery. “What a pleasant surprise. What might I do for you this afternoon?” 

I took in her adorable flush, then looked at Blackwall, who was very deeply appreciating the mortar between the hearthstones. 

Well, well. Wasn’t it just delicious?

“Dorian?” Josephine prodded. _Of course!_ She had a reason to want me out, and quickly. 

“I came to ask - and it’s fortunate that you’re both here, actually - if you’d seen Zevran about? He has something of mine.” 

“Oh.” Another soft laugh of amusement, as though I were now the one being cute. “He has not come through here, and I have not gotten out. Not much at all. I admit that I have been very busy.” 

That seemed an inordinate number of words for a “no.”

“Ah, yes, I’m sure you have been,” I replied in my most charming way, glancing at Blackwall. I should have left it there, but the intrigue tugged at me. “Maker knows no one could possibly be busier than the Inquisition’s diplomat - to the point that I do notice you missing at the afternoon meal.” 

“Why that is very flattering,” she deflected, “that you observe my absence. Yes, it is true, but please, do not concern yourself. Leliana makes sure that the runners know to bring me a luncheon plate.” 

“But as it happens… Warden Blackwall,” I added, turning to him. Oh, he was so much more artless than even he believed. The alarm on his face was positively earsplitting, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning at his discomfort. “I’ve noticed your absence, as well. Do the runners bring _you_ something delicious, too?” 

“Why,” he mimicked her without realizing it even as his blush deepened to near-scalding levels, “I’ve been carving. I have a whole set of figures and toys - some little boxes to hold trinkets, too. Other things. I’ll show you sometime if you like.” 

Their increasing embarrassment was something I might have wanted to fiddle with another day, but I knew my mission must come first. “I wonder where on Thedas Zevran could have got to,” I muttered. 

“Have you checked the gardens?” Josephine suggested. “I have seen him there from time to time.” 

“Good thought,” I nodded appreciatively. “I’ll head that way.” I looked at them both again and couldn’t resist adding, swirling my finger at them to indicate whatever _this_ was, “If discretion is what you’re after, I could give you a dozen locations better than the desk of the Inquisition’s diplomat.” 

That caused both of them to redden yet again and for Josephine to release another giggle behind her hand so, deciding my work here was done, I made for the garden. 

At the very least, it captured some serenity amid the cultural chaos that was the Inquisition’s bastion. On many a morning, I had found Zevran here, plucking herbs for the alchemical mixtures with which he coated his daggers. Not on this day. Mother Giselle eyed me coolly, so I shot her a mocking little smirk and bowed with an exaggerated flourish. She tipped her chin up and turned away. I didn’t deign to ask her if she’d seen my handsome rogue. Doubtless, she would think the question scandalous simply because I was the one asking it.

Oddly enough, just beyond her stood Cullen. It was strange to see him out amongst actual people, and I wondered what brought him here - until, upon approaching, I spotted Inquisitor Lavellan. 

Little trysts everywhere, and me without my elf. 

“Commander,” I greeted, and he turned to me. I usually found myself wanting to comb my fingers through the fur on his mantle, but I had thus far managed to keep from doing it. Well, once that thought was upon me, I couldn’t help myself. I sank my fingers into the pelt and sighed happily. He turned deeply red, and the Inquisitor chuckled softly.

“I’ve simply - you cannot imagine how long I’ve needed to do that,” I admitted. “It’s just so luxurious.” I made a few passes with my hands, ruffling the fur, squeezing it, combing it straight again, until he finally cleared his throat and stepped back. He looked as though he wished the very stone would swallow him up; for my part, I was surprised that he had allowed me to do it at all. Now he had the Inquisitor to do it, were she so inclined. The look in her eye and the grin on her face told me she positively was. 

But back to the matter at hand. “I wonder if either of you has seen Zevran,” I inquired.

The Inquisitor turned that bright grin on me. “What’s he taken this time, Dorian?” 

Finally, someone who understood. “My cologne. The bottle that I carried with me from Vyrantium. It’s almost gone as it is, but it’s a last reminder of home.”

Shaking his head, Cullen looked at the Inquisitor. “I haven’t seen him, either. Not since yesterday.” 

“Where does he _go_?” I demanded of no one in particular. “I don’t even know where he sleeps when he isn’t with me.” 

Cullen cleared his throat. Oh, dear. Apparently, I was being indecorous. 

“If we’re asking after lost things, I do find that I’m missing a book,” Cullen said after an awkward little pause. “I was… doing some research on customs.” He glanced at the Inquisitor, then away again.

If that was the Commander being circumspect, he was about as sly Josephine and Blackwall. The Inquisitor was grinning at him. 

“I’ll keep an eye out,” I promised. “Thank you for your time.” I bowed my head to both of them and took my leave, wandering in the breezeways only a moment before exiting to stalk around Skyhold. 

He was gone. Just... gone. I made my way to the Herald’s Rest, beginning to worry just a touch. He’d never just disappeared for this length of time, and he shouldn’t have been in the field - Josephine or Leliana would have known. 

Bull, ever-present in his corner of the tavern, greeted me as I entered. “Dorian! Come have a drink.” 

“It’s not even mid-day,” I pointed out, “but why not? Who’s joining us? Krem?”

“Yup,” Krem said, coming down the stairs. He had Sera in tow. 

“Well, now it’s a party,” I smirked. 

“Course it is,” Sera put in, though she sounded vaguely annoyed. “Ever since we killed that stupid giant, it’s a party every day.” She sat down heavily and took up the cup that Bull had supplied. “Every day,” she repeated, just to be sure we had all heard her displeasure. “And I was there! Just don’t get him started on the grunting. Or the spot in its bloody armpit where it’s soft. Or the way it swept the club around, all brute-y. He kept its toe, y’know it? Its friggin’ toe.” She made a disgusted, gagging noise before chasing it down with whiskey. “Couldn’ta been a dragon again, no, just a stinky, arsey giant.”

“Then why come?” I asked. I took a sip out of the cup that Bull had pushed into my hand and coughed delicately. 

“‘Cause there’s drink, and it’s not on my coin, so…?” She shrugged. “Wha’ever.”

“She loves the stories,” Bull assured me, ignoring her scowl. “I get to tell it from up close. She was wayyy back there.”

“Because of how arrows work, ya daft,” Sera muttered.

Krem chuckled and shook his head. “We’re never going to hear the end of it, but The Iron Bull is better when he’s got something to brag about.”

“Better than what? And I’m not bragging; I’m relaying the important details.” 

“About how your blade alone dove deep into the heart of the creature?” 

Bull shrugged. “That’s an important detail. And about how the sword quivered with his dying breath. _My_ sword.”

Oh, this stood to be a lengthier discussion than stones trimming a corset. I downed my cup - the coughing was not so delicate this time - and set it on the table. “Has anyone seen Zevran?” I asked. “He made off with something of mine, and I want it back.” 

“Something of yours, is it?” Sera asked, eyeing me with a sly grin. She made smooching noises. “I’ve got gold that says what he made off with is in his breeches.” 

“Very clever,” I deadpanned. “It’s not like it’s a bloody secret.” 

“Good, then, because it’s a shite one if so.”

“Have you seen him, or not?” 

Sera crinkled her nose at me. “Nope, but he doesn’t come ‘round here since I caught him tryin’ to filch one of my pillows.” 

“Of course you did,” I sighed. “What did you do to him?” 

“Plowed him over, kicked him in the bits, and stabbed him with an arrowhead right in the arm. Bloody lucky I didn’t do it the other way ‘round, stealing my pillows,” she finished with a dark scowl, drinking again.

“I had wondered where that scar came from,” I said. “He told me it was an assassination attempt.” 

“It was an -” She cackled abruptly, tossing her head back. “Arse-arse-sination attempt,” she tittered.

“You have a one-road mind,” I observed with some wonder. 

“I kinda miss him coming in,” Krem said. “He’s fun to flirt with.” He raised his hands placatingly. “Not that I’d ever, you know.” 

I waved that off; for all his cunning thievery, I had no doubt that Zevran was faithful in this regard, even had there been a possibility of interest on Krem’s part. I looked at Bull, but he shook his head. 

“Haven’t seen him since yesterday.” 

“That’s what everyone says,” I grumbled. “It’s like a bloody conspiracy.” 

I departed for the training area, where our dear Seeker was chopping another mannequin to splinters. I recognized her to be a pious woman and well-suited to her task, or I’d have believed she missed her calling as a woodcutter.

“Seeker,” I called, “have you seen Zevran? He has absconded with a very pricey bottle of my cologne, and I…” 

I trailed off as she stopped violently swinging at the dummy to glower at me. 

“What?” I asked, puzzled. 

“Did you come all the way down out of the library to interrupt my training so you could ask about _cologne_?”

“Don’t be absurd,” I scoffed. “I’m asking about Zevran. _And_ cologne.” 

Cassandra grunted her displeasure and went back to hacking away.

“My goodness,” I remarked as her scowl deepened. Her attitude was horrid today. Oh, I knew she had some softness to her; that was what made this so over the top. “Has someone done something to you? Leliana’s in the rookery,” I added and hiked my thumb in that direction. “Shall I have her dispatch a small nation in your name?” 

“It’s Varric,” the Seeker muttered through clenched teeth. One more swing, and there went the mannequin’s head. It rolled toward the base of the battlement and stared, unimpressed, into the sky. “ _Swords and Shields_ has ended in another cliffhanger, and he won’t say a word.” 

I only just resisted the urge to roll my eyes; the sword was a great deterrent. “That is indeed dire,” I replied. “I shall endeavor to keep my petty concerns about theft of my belongings to myself.” 

“Ugh.” Cassandra shook her head at me. “Go away, Dorian.” 

“Of course. Listen - if you scowl just a bit harder, I bet that head will hop right back up and affix itself to the effigy so that you might slay it again.” 

I leaped to the side as her sword flew in a spinning arc just to my left. It embedded itself firmly into a beam at the back corner of the tavern and shuddered there. 

“Right.” I very wisely made my departure, keeping secret the knowledge of the book with which Varric was cheating on _Swords and Shields._

~ ~ ~ ~

I had been everywhere in Skyhold. He wasn’t visiting the shops, hiding in the barn, in recovery with the medics, prowling the battlements… It confused and worried me, and the feeling settled in my stomach like Vivienne’s stones. By nightfall, I was indeed concerned. He’d disappeared, and it had been more than a day. Had he received some word about his dismantled Guild? Had he decided “enough with the Tevinter” and absconded? What would warrant simply leaving that way?

In an attempt to distract myself, I fetched a bottle of brandy from the kitchens and prepared my corner for reading. I lit several candles, settled into my sleeping gown, and selected a book I’d been enjoying off and on, but even the comfort of my chair and the warmth of the brandy could not get him out of my mind. Where in the world was my rogue?

I finally clapped the book shut and replaced it in its slot on the shelf. I had no idea what I was about to do - pace around beneath the rookery, I supposed - when he appeared out of nowhere like sorcery. Roguish sorcery.

“Amore,” he greeted, smiling. He touched my cheek and I leaned into his palm. He was gorgeous in dark leather, his hair loose and windswept. He’d never looked as beautiful as he was in that moment.

“Zevran,” I breathed, hugging him close. His skin was cool, and he smelled of fresh air and green woods. “Where have you been? I’ve quite literally looked everywhere.” When I pulled back to take in the sight of him, his smile had turned sly. 

“I must show you something.” He stepped away and set to snuffing my candles before I could so much as raise a protest. “I would suggest that you wear a cloak, my dear Tevinter. It is chilly.” 

“I - where are we going?” I asked even as I draped my cloak around my shoulders. I had so many questions that I couldn’t even begin to give them a voice.

“To a small corner that I have made my own.” He took my hand and led me to the stairwell, then into a hallway that ran through the exterior wall. We were beneath the battlements, I realized, and when we came out, we were in one of the abandoned towers that had previously been used for lodging. 

It was cheerily lit by a smattering of candles on a sideboard along the wall opposite the glowing hearth. Against another wall hung a tapestry from the Inquisitor’s all-too-brief Tevinter phase. It had gone missing from the main hall weeks ago, and I’d assumed that was why she’d taken the rest down. A great pile of pillows and one of the Inquisitor’s Avvar furs rested beneath it on a wooden bed frame. Several books lay scattered about, primarily poetry and perhaps one or two lurid romances, as well as a treatise on the modern Dalish elf with regard to gifts and celebratory customs. A long, black quill lay atop a loose stack of parchment.

On a little side table sat a parcel. It was wrapped in a large piece of black satin brocade patterned with gold and green snakes. Stunned at the tableau before me, I turned to look at my elf. 

“You were… becoming mercurial,” he purred, sidling up to me and resting his hand on my chest under my cloak. “You used the phrase ‘damned Orlesians’ enough times that I surmised you were homesick.” 

“So you left? Or have you been here the whole time?” Ensconced in a previously unused corner of Skyhold? No wonder no one had seen him. 

“Oh, I left,” Zevran said readily enough. “I had a contact in Redcliffe who… well. Shall we say he is a procurement specialist?” He pointed to the package. “Open it.”

I settled into the nest of pillows and took the parcel up. The fabric was exquisite enough to rival anything Vivienne had ever put on her person, I was sure. I unfolded and untied it, delighted to find that it was quite a large piece, large enough that our tailors could make a fine scarf or perhaps a cowl out of it.

Zevran remained standing, watching me with his smoldering gaze. At once I could imagine him naked in these very pillows with this fabric draped across his hips, and it was immediately all I wanted. 

“Are you going to stand there gawping, or are you going to come here and kiss me?” I demanded. 

“I want you to open the box.” He tilted his chin at it.

“Fine,” I grumbled. The box was plain, brown wood with nothing to indicate what was inside it. I lifted the lid, thinking there couldn’t possibly be anything in there to rival the feel of his skin against mine. 

There wasn’t - but it came close. I stared at the contents of the box: little pastries, glazed with honey, each topped with a perfect, whorled half of a nut. “Minrathous tea cakes?” I asked, incredulous. I reached in and took one up. It fit perfectly between two fingers. It was decadently sticky, and the flaky edges crumbled just a bit under my touch. It smelled of spiced vanilla - utterly perfect. When I put it into my mouth, the crisp, toasty layers and apple orchard honey invaded my senses. I closed my eyes and was transported back to the nook by the fire in my great-grandame’s kitchen. When I’d been small, she and I would steal down to the slaves’ area in the middle of the night - absolute scandal - and she would make these for me. It was the only thing she ever cooked, and they were sublime.

Only when I’d chewed and swallowed that precious bite did Zevran approach. He settled next to me, lidded the box, and took my hand in his to lick the honey from my fingertips. 

“How in the world could you possibly have known?” I asked. I was dumbfounded, moved, and so very much in love that it nearly hurt. 

“Would you believe,” Zevran murmured, reaching up to pull my hair out of place and run his fingers through it at my crown, “a lucky guess?”

A very sly rogue, more like, but… “It doesn’t matter.” I pulled him close and kissed him soundly, relishing the feel of his soft lips and tongue against mine and the way his kisses inflamed me, pooling hot in my stomach. 

At length, he pulled back. “I take it you will be staying?” he chuckled. At my nod, he said, “Very good, then.” He pushed up to stand again, presumably to undress, but then I remembered what had sent me all over Skyhold.

I grabbed his wrist firmly and gave him my very best stern voice: “Wait. My cologne, if you will.”

He positively beamed. “You know that if you’re going to manhandle me as punishment, I shall only endeavor to steal it more often.” Reaching behind him into a concealed pocket at the small of his back, he produced a bottle. Not my bottle, but a full one.

I do believe my heart completely melted. 

Taking the bottle, gazing at it, I murmured, “You could have told me what you were doing. It would have spared me a good deal of upset today.” I looked up at him, feeling more than I could possibly describe. 

“Ah,” he smiled, shaking his head, “but then I would not see you as you are now - and tell me. Was it not worth this?” 

I rubbed the soft skin of his wrist under my thumb, then let him go. “You’re too clever for your own good. You know that, don’t you?” 

“That I do, amore,” he grinned. “And it suits you perfectly, no?” 

Alas, he was right.

\- end -


End file.
